


Misconceptions

by idontwanttodothisanymore



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Open to Interpretation, PWP, This is kinda angsty, check out rose's newtwas fics though!!, dt: rose, friends to enemies technically, how many fics can i title under synonyms, i took lines of dialogue and fucking ran with it, newt kills thomas!!, or in others words, sorry if the lapselock bothers you it's a Me thing, uhhhhhhh, writing practice bc i suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 17:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontwanttodothisanymore/pseuds/idontwanttodothisanymore
Summary: "It was my mission from day one. I'm sorry you fell for it."Newt is a traitor.





	Misconceptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weallfalldowneventually](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weallfalldowneventually/gifts).



"I thought you were my friend." The words roll off Thomas's tongue bitterly, they taste of betrayal. His expression mirrors his inner anguish with eyebrows knitted together. He looks up to meet Newt's cold gaze.

"I thought you knew better." Originally Newt planned to be more dramatic and retort a 'you thought wrong' bullshit kind of response. Instead he opts for a psychological statement to get his 'friend' going.

His expression is blank, something he has always found easy to do. Eyes reflecting how devoid of emotion his job has forced him to be. Something that keeps him grounded in this fake reality, using it to purposely avoid the bodycount. There is no room for mistakes, despite how Newt may actually feel. Concealing real thoughts with needed actions has always been embedded into his framework.

"It's been so long, why now?" Thomas ever the realist asks nay spits at Newt. All aggression, annoyance, and fiery passion. Why befriend someone in this sort of circumstance. His cheeks are a muddy red, much like the first time they met. The sky was so clear that day, Newt will never forget how he purposefully spilled coffee onto Thomas's t-shirt in order to chat up his target.

"It was my mission from day one. I'm sorry you fell for it." He really is. If anything, his feelings have his heart in such a tight vice that it is a feat he is still breathing so evenly. The gun in his hand isn't shaking, no. His training has prepared him for intense and unexpected perils of working undercover. It isn't as if this is a fair fight either. Thomas isn't armed. Newt has him bound, wrists to his thighs and knelt down. The barrel of his handgun aimed point blank.

"Fuck you."

If Newt learned anything from the past years, he knows that Thomas is putting up a facade to prevent tears from spilling. Newt feels bad, he feels fucking terrible. His head is spinning with anxiety while his insides lurch from the mere thought of killing the one person he'd ever successfully gotten close to. The one person he found he could be his pure self around. His throat goes to and fro, constricting and unconstricting his airway making it quite difficult to breathe. He's never been this unnerved on the job before.

But it _is_ his head if he doesn't collect Thomas's. As much as he'd like to keep the rouse up, his higher ups are quite fed up. And Newt has no leverage in this situation.

Pulling the slide back and clearing his throat- Newt steadies his voice as much he can manage, "Will it assure you that I did enjoy our friendship?" He doesn't know why this comes out of his mouth. It shouldn't have. Tilting his head then crouching in front of the now fuming Thomas, he sighs. "C'mon now, cheer up. You've always wanted to die anyhow. Why not by my hand?"

If looks could kill Newt would be definitely be half-dead. Since Thomas could never muster a good glare. It's laughable really, it always has been. No one would even bat a lash at a puppy eyed boy trying yet failing at producing a menacing glare. A small smile starts to form on Newt's face but he reels it in quickly. Now's really not the time.

Thomas glares and glares, huffing and puffing. Chest rising and falling and Newt can't tell if he's angrier or fighting off a panic attack. His heart sinks as he observes that it might be leaning more towards the latter. Butterflies nip at his insides in a terrible sort of way. Nerves don't usually get the best of him towards the close of missions. Why now? This is so insignificant and inconvenient.

Newt thinks first, _tommy is neither of those_

 ~~it doesnt matter whether he is or not~~ , the rational and money hungry part of his brain supplies

Then, _nicknames? for someone you have to murder?_

Lastly, _cut that shit out now. end his life before you think yourself into a mental breakdown._

Even with a gun in front of him, Thomas closes his eyes and utters, "Do it." Two words that manage to bring tears to Newt's eyes.

He doesn't want to.

It was easier when Newt didn't crouch down. Didn't think of taunting the boy in front of him much like other prey he played with. Didn't have maddening thoughts edging on violent when thinking of any mortal harm coming to Thomas. _Tommy_. Isn't that all too ironic.

It would have been so much easier had Newt not fallen for the boy's charming personality and kept to the mission in itself. Locate and execute.

"I'll see you on the other side, Tommy."

Thomas opens his mouth to speak but Newt finds himself denying that last wish. He lowers the gun, pushes it into Thomas's chest right where his heart is- eliciting a groan from the latter. He squeezes his eyes while his fingers squeeze the trigger. It is the loudest sound he has ever heard. Then the gentlest.

Thomas crumbles.

Newt follows.

 


End file.
